


A Quiet Life

by Toricchi



Category: Dragon Kishi-dan (Dragon Knights)
Genre: Backstory, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-09-28
Updated: 2006-09-28
Packaged: 2017-10-05 23:49:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,479
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/47365
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Toricchi/pseuds/Toricchi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Alfeegi had never imagined anything grand for himself.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Quiet Life

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Ddae](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=Ddae).



> Birthday fic for ddae.

He was so caught up in his work that he nearly jumped out of his skin when something brushed his shoulder, almost upsetting his inkwell when he whipped around. He steadied it just in time before it spilled and ruined his entire night's work.

 

"Easy there, lad," Master Bolan's gruff voice said, his heavy hand resting on his shoulder. "Perhaps you ought to be getting off to bed if you're in such a state."

 

"Just give me another half-hour and I'll be finished," he promised.

 

"Hmmm," he rumbled, and plucked the sheet from Alfeegi's protesting hand, his dark eyes quickly scanning the page.

 

Not that he was going to find any errors. Alfeegi had been very thorough in his calculations, and sure enough, he dropped it back on Alfeegi's workdesk with another rumble, and the slight upturning of his lips that was his equivalent of a smile.

 

"Well enough done," he allowed in what passed for praise from him, but he had little time to bask in it. "You can finish it in the morning," he added, and when Alfeegi protested very vehemently this time, fixed him with a look that made him shrink back into his chair, biting his tongue.

 

"It's no good for me if my best apprentice works himself into an early grave," Master Bolan said gruffly, and a flush of warmth suffused him in the face of his determination to remain indignant at being treated like a child. "Surely enough you've something much nicer to go home to."

 

He flushed scarlet despite himself, and Master Bolan laughed. "Ah, so that snip of a girl Marjla has finally managed to tie you to her apron strings."

 

"No!" He was hardly tied to anyone's apron strings, let alone hers. Although she did smell very nice... and her skin was very soft...

 

Master Bolan stroked his moustaches thoughtfully. "To tell the truth, you're wasted on us, lad. No, hear me out," he said when Alfeegi opened his mouth to object. "You may think you'll be happy here doing the books when I'm gone, but you were meant for bigger things than Shao, boy, and I'll eat my hat if that's not true."

 

"Marjla--"

 

"That one has no idea how to handle you, and you'll only make the both of yourselves miserable trying to be the henpecked husband she wants you to be."

 

"But--"

 

"Would you stop interrupting me, boy?" Master Bolan's bushy eyebrows went up alarmingly, and Alfeegi sat down again.

 

"What you need is to go somewhere where your talents will be appreciated," and he took a crumpled scroll from his belt and handed it to Alfeegi. The ink had smudged, but he could still make out the Emperor's official seal at the top.

 

"I took the liberty of applying for you," Master Bolan said, curling his moustache and sounding too pleased to be sorry. "His Majesty has most graciously allowed you more time, taking into account the distance you have to travel, and will be expecting you next month."

 

"I can't go to Draqueen!" Draqueen! He scarcely knew it outside of fairy books and old wives' tales. Only the oldest man in the village, Crev, had ever been there, and he said that the towers of the palace touched the clouds, and that real, four-legged dragons roamed the streets. Then again, Crev actually claimed to have met the Black Minister once, and he swore up and down he was a demon, so his story could hardly be reliable (he'd always known the old man was a bit funny in the head, anyway). At any rate, Draqueen was a world away from Master Bolan's office and library -- Draqueen's library was probably bigger than their entire village!

 

"You're leaving tomorrow," Master Bolan said, sounding even more pleased. "Farmer Ewin will take you as far as Chantel, and one of the Emperor's messengers is going to pick you up from there."

 

"I can't--"

 

"Surely you can," Master Bolan said indulgently, clapping his shoulder. "Just work hard, and remember to watch your tongue."

 

* * *

 

Every muscle, and a few he hadn't know he had, ached, and his head was ringing like a bell. Chantel appeared to have people crammed into every available space, and they all seemed to shout at the top of their voices, whether they were friends talking to each other, or hawkers trying to make themselves heard over the top of their rivals. The din permeated even the walls of the inn, where he sat, a little nervously, contemplating his hitherto-untouched cup (Master Bolan would have his hide if he knew he was drinking!), occasionally fingering the scroll that gave him the right to be sitting here.

 

If Chantel was this bad, he couldn't imagine what Draqueen must be like.

 

"I don't blame you, it's like vinegar." A tall, brown-haired man slid onto the bench opposite him, his hair braided with the small bells that seemed to be the latest fashion, the tinkling of which made him clench his teeth every time he heard them. "You want to try the Draqueenian stuff. That's what wine is supposed to be."

 

He wondered if he was supposed to say anything, or if this city was just full of idiots who liked to waste their time chatting to complete strangers. He settled for giving him a look which should have seared the flesh from his bones, or at least given him a hint that he wasn't wasting his time with idle gossip and taking a sip of his wine, which nearly took the top of his tongue off. He set the cup down immediately, trying to disguise his coughing. The stranger handed him a silk kerchief, which he pointedly ignored.

 

"Warned you, didn't I." He seemed amused. When he smiled he showed lots of even white teeth, and Alfeegi was unbearably annoyed by it for some reason. Too pretty; too chatty: in other words, useless. "Are you ready to go?"

 

"Go?" He tried to instill in the syllable all the skepticism Master Bolan would have given it, but he hadn't quite got the eyebrow thing down yet, and the odd man only laughed.

 

"To Draqueen. You are Alfeegi, aren't you? There can't be that many people with blue hair staying at this inn."

 

"Who are you?" he asked suspiciously, tucking his hair into his cap. Master Bolan had warned him about the lowlifes that infested cities; people who would at the slightest sign of vulnerability would rob, maim and other, unprintable things that made him blush just to think about, you. The man with the laughing eyes didn't look like a criminal, but you never could tell, he'd learned quickly ("Let me buy you a drink" apparently meant something very different in the city).

 

"You certainly know how to deflate one's ego," he chuckled, and offered his hand. "I'm Ruwalk, the Yellow Officer. Lykouleon's sent me to bring you to Draqueen to test for the White Dragon Ball."

 

Somehow, he'd expected a leader of the Emperor's army to be more… serious.

 

Ruwalk kept up a constant stream of chatter as he followed him out of the inn. However, as he also paid for Alfeegi's room, an amount that made him wince and clutch his purse close to him, perhaps he could allow the man a little slack. He never stopped until they were both seated in the carriage, which was so opulent he had to forcibly remind himself to keep his jaws together, and then he switched topics, describing Draqueen in minute detail, and using such familiar language that he was hard pressed to keep his eyebrows from climbing into his hair. But Master Bolan had told him to watch his tongue, so he remained silent.

 

"--it'll take about a week to get Draqueen, and once you get settled in you'll be tested…"

 

The bells in his hair chimed as he moved, finding a new nerve to get on each time.

 

"--Lykouleon can't wait to meet you--"

 

He tried to make himself sit up straight and look attentive. He was supposed to work with this... man? More likely he'd end up strangling him with his own stupid hair for a few seconds of blessed peace and quiet.

 

"You're very quiet," Ruwalk commented, suddenly very close to him.

 

"You're very annoying," he burst out before he could stop himself. He had about three seconds of self-satisfaction before mortification at his lack of self-control took hold, and he -he did not stammer, dammit!- mumbled an apology.

 

"Huh." Ruwalk leaned back in his seat, smiling his cat-cream smile. "So there is a spark to you after all."

 

It would really be unacceptable to say what he wanted to say, so he resigned himself to practicing his glare instead, which seemed to have no effect on Ruwalk.

 

Next time he saw Master Bolan, he was going to... well, maybe he'd crease his paperwork a little.


End file.
